


The Widow's Dollhouse

by noas_arc



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noas_arc/pseuds/noas_arc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Clint Barton becomes the victim of a horrible car crash, Natasha must figure out how to deal with his absence. But despite Clint being gone, the world continues to spin on, and Hydra has other plans for the infamous Black Widow. While the Winter Soldier is still under their control, even after the slight slip up in D.C., they're greedy for more agents to test out their new Dollhouse technology on, and the blurred lines between truth and tall tales becomes nearly nonexistent for the Red Room survivor.</p><p>(Set post-CA:TWS, with elements from the TV show Dollhouse. Was originally solo posts from a Twitter RP.)<br/>(View the YouTube trailer here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-66mCdvR8o)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Web

Natalia took in the cast of the van as she tried to ignore the pounding in her head. There were Winter's handlers, one on each side. It explained his silence, and the shift in his demeanor- a submissive stance that she didn't recognize, a dull gleam in his eye. She really was looking at a ghost. Turning her head to see who was seated next to her brought on a new angle of pain that twinged at the base of her skull. Another man dressed very similar to the ones sitting next to Winter sat in the seat beside her. There was one on the side opposite, too. They were eerily silent. Were they guards? Simple agents? More handlers for Winter? Handlers of her own? She turned to face Winter again, fighting to keep her heart rate and breathing normal but unable to keep the fear from her eyes as she looked at her former mentor. Was this just a routine kidnapping or interrogation sort of mission, or was there something more?

She gingerly let herself lean back in her seat, tilting her chin up so that the bruise on her head didn't bump against anything. There was nothing for it but to wait out the ride. She closed her eyes, withdrawing into herself and taking stock of what they could possibly want from her. Information was number one. Who knew what sort of tools they'd use to get it from her if she refused them. They could also be after her skills. She knew exactly what they'd do to get her to comply, and the thought made her pulse jump. Her eyes flew open, staring up at the roof for a moment before flicking down to find Winter again. She wondered if she'd fare any better than he had. Perhaps they'd let them work together like old times. Well, depends on if they let her remember old times.

She spent most of the ride switching between this sort of withdrawal and studying the familiar assassin. It was better than letting the red symbol bared on all of the handlers' chests invade her mind. A jab from one of the handlers snapped her out of her reveries.

"Вставать."

The restraints on her legs were removed so she could get out of the van. She felt a hard hand on her upper arm as she did so, which immediately jerked her to a stop once her feet crunched on gravel. Her hands were re-tied behind her back- not that this repositioning would have made it any harder for her to escape this group's grasp if she'd wanted to. No, it was the leather-clad asset that was being kept at bay and the fact that she knew she was desperately outnumbered. She probably had any number of guns aimed at her head at that very moment.

"Прогулка."

The cold muzzle of one of these guns greeted her between the shoulder blades, moving her forward. She studied what she could see of the building she was shoved towards, methodically making notes of windows, doors, anything she could possibly use. It was habit. As the progression moved forward, badges were flashed, IDs were checked, lights flashed green, and deadbolts were drawn back. Bright, white hallways appeared. Metallic elevators were taken. Natalia lost track of how many stories down they sunk, the two assassins and their guards. When the doors finally opened again, a whole different hallway greeted them. Dark, dimly lit walls stretched on before the group. They traveled together past a few intersections before Winter was shepherded down a different hallway, and she watched him go, steeling herself with one last glance.

Eventually, she was led into a room of her own. It was as dark as the hallway, and cold. A single chair sat in the middle of it, covered in straps and wires. It looked like what she had expected- a torture chamber. Wires ran from the straps into computers and machines that blinked and glowed at the edges of the room. A screen was situated at the wall opposite the chair. No, perhaps not torture. But it could be.

She was led to the chair. She could feel herself freezing up with memories- the Red Room, getting taken out of her own head and getting put back in, changed and frayed, things not quite clicking the same way they had before. Ballet shoes and blood flashed across her vision. She resisted the push of the guards, her heart racing, her breath coming in short gasps. Panic. She couldn't breathe. Get out!

There was a heavy thud and a grunt of surprise as she dropped to the ground and swung a leg to the side and tripped one of the guards, quickly rocketing back up, leading with her shoulder to wind the guard on the other side. Another hop and her hands would be in front-

Fire raced its way down her spine as a guard tazered her. The tiled floor was hard and cold on her face, and she couldn't quite make it stay still.

"Вы хитрый шлюха. Отстань и быть рады, что не имеют Зимний стрелять вам, где вы стояли!" A swift kick in the stomach robbed Natalia of nearly all the air in her lungs. "Вставать!"  
The same, hard hand yanked her to her feet, making her head spin even more. She was unceremoniously flipped around and thrown into the chair, straps and wires quickly put in place to make sure she didn't try anything else. Her calves, thighs, forearms, upper arms, torso, and head were all secured to the chair. She stayed silent through all this, her breath heaving. Silence was all she had at this point. They'd peel her out of her own skull soon enough.

Soon after the guards had gotten to work preparing the wires and machines, a middle-aged looking man in a suit came in.

"Ah, Natalia Romanova," came his voice. American accent. Learned, not his own. Natalia strained against the restraint around her head to look at him. He circled her chair, rubbing his hands together and looking at her like she was his Christmas come early. His round glasses glared in the light cast upon her chair. "I see the asset caught you at last. We worked very hard to get to this point, you know. Months of preparation, wire-tapping, spying. Oh, not to mention, killing a very important player in this. A certain archer, I believe it was. Pity, really. But, what can I say- sometimes you have to go with collateral damage. And our asset is actually quite good at orchestrating car accidents, you know. I bet your friend, Stark, knows all about that."

Natalia's fists clenched as her heart dropped. These were the people who had taken Clint from her. They were breaking her. Again.

"I'm not going to give you anything," she spat, unable to keep the panic out of her voice. The man just laughed.

"You've been triggered just by seeing the chair, my dear," he replied. "The asset was kind enough to give us a head start by bashing your head pretty good, too. Manual recalibration- it works wonders. Don't you fret, we'll get what we want from you soon enough." The man glanced at one of the guards. "Have at her."

There was a second as she watched the man turn on his heel and start to turn away before the pain started. Her eyes slammed shut. Her head was on fire, it was getting stabbed with a million needles reaching to the core of her skull. She heard a scream and felt the straps tighten. Was that her voice? Why had the straps become so tight? Her throat felt raw. She was seeing things now- blood, silver, white- she couldn't focus on anything yet.

Suddenly, she was face-first in snow, her hands numb and her face raw from the cold, the words, "your husband is dead" ricocheting through her head.  
She was in Stark tower, laughing with Clint over something Thor had said, happiness blooming in her chest.  
She was in the shadows, the familiar flash of a silver arm on her right and the weight of a sniper rifle in her hand. "Хорошо, теперь стрелять." A crack filled the streets as the adrenaline rushed through her and her first long-distance kill was done.  
She was staring into glaring lights, her feet perfectly placed in 3rd position, poised, ready to sweep into action. One, two, three, four- five, six, seven, eight...  
She was talking to Clint the last day she saw him, making a joke about showering together to conserve water to give Steve a hard time. An inside joke. Something told her to make sure to say goodbye to him before she left, just because you never knew...

She was back in the room, strapped to the chair, her breath coming hard and fast and tears streaking her face. Her head ached something awful. Her throat was completely dry.

"Готовы ли вы соблюдать?" A handler stood by her side, arms crossed and glaring at her. "Hail HYDRA," he said, the phrase sounding more like a challenge. He was telling her to say it back. Her face hardened as she refused and immediately the pain began again.

This time, nothing flashed across her vision. Everything was blank for a few moments, then little fragmented images appeared here and there. A metal arm and a red star. Clint, on life support in the hospital. The eagle of the SHIELD logo. Her own red, trademark hourglass sign, faded. Then the menacing, tentacled HYDRA symbol.  
She was picking up a bow and arrow. It was hers. She looked up and found an archery range. It was just her and the target, as it always had been. She notched an arrow and pulled it, calculating the distance and the wind with ease and letting it fly into the bullseye as if she had done it every day of her life.

"Natasha," came a voice. She couldn't see who it belonged to. "Hail HYDRA."

"Hail HYDRA," came her reply, automatic. She didn't even think about it.

"Look, I know it's been hard since... Since Clint was shot down by SHIELD, but, you need to come back from the range eventually..."

The memory faded. Now, she felt something wake up. Old programming, old urges, that she hadn't felt for a long time. The feelings pounded through her blood. Comply. Be perfect. Complete your mission. Compliance will be rewarded.

When she opened her eyes again, she was calm.

"Готовы ли вы соблюдать, г-жа Романова?"

"Счастливый соблюдать. Hail HYDRA."

"Хорошо. Мы собираемся, чтобы подготовить вас для вашего следующего назначения, Black Hawk."


	2. Inactive

"She is an incredibly valuable asset in our search for the Winter Soldier. She's virtually perfect for our agenda. I highly recommend utilizing her to her full potential."

"Agreed. How long has she been in cryofreeze?"

"Nearly eight months, sir."

"Right. Bring her out, prep her, then... Doll her up."

"Understood."

\---

Natalia woke up slowly, blinking up through the crystals of ice still clinging to her lashes. Her mind was blank. Completely, blissfully blank. She looked idly around at the men in lab coats surrounding her, glancing up as she heard a steady beeping coming from a machine next to her. A puzzled look overcame her.

"[Did I fall asleep?]" she asked the room at large, her tone soft and innocent, trusting that she'd get an answer. The men continued to work, only glancing to her face to check for signs of pain. Her gaze hardened a little in confusion. What was going on?

She tried to lift herself from the table, but found that she was strapped down. Panic bubbled in her chest.

"[Did I fall asleep?!]" she asked again, fear now evident in her voice. The men just worked faster, the machine next to her beeped more rapidly. She tried to move her fingers and pain shot through them- it felt like a thousand pins and needles were sticking into them. She cried out in pain.

"[Easy, Natalia,]" one of the men told her. She looked up at him helplessly.

"[It hurts!]"

"[Yes, now be quiet.]"

"[I want to leave,]" she croaked.

"[I said be quiet!]"

It was quite the sight to see the Black Widow- or the Black Hawk, now- wiped and whimpering on the table. Once her vitals were checked and she had been looked over for any sign of tissue damage, however, she was cleared and released from the table.

"[Where are we going?]" she asked as she was led out into the hall. There was no response. Again, she asked, louder this time. Her handler gave an annoyed sigh.

"God, I hate dealing with them when they're inactive."

"[What?]"

"[I said shut up!]"

Natalia flinched at his words, looking for all the world like she had been hit. She sulked behind him for the rest of the journey, her gaze lost and afraid. She perked up with curiosity, however, when she was led to a room with a chair in it.

"[What's-]"

Her question was interrupted by a hand across her face. She gave an uncharacteristic squeak as she fell to the floor.

"[How many times have I told you?! Shut the fuck up!]"

She looked close to tears as she held a hand to her reddening cheek.

"[Now get up and sit in the chair. I'll be glad when I don't have to deal with you as a fucking useless idiot. Get up!]"

She quickly did as she was told, leaning back in the chair easily. She watched as the technicians strapped her to this, too. She opened her mouth to ask why, but a glance at her handler killed her question before it made it to her mouth. He smirked.

"[All right, Natalia,]" said the lead technician as he rubbed his hands together nervously. "[Sit back for me. This might... pinch a bit.]" She gave a nod and did as she was told, looking up at the ceiling as the chair reclined back.

Her handler laughed as her screams told him just how much the technician had lied to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay no more untranslated Russian! But yeah, the Dollhouse influence should be incredibly evident here. Have fun~


	3. Dolled Up

Natasha's eyes fluttered open as the chair slowly propped her back up into a sitting position, the whirring of the machines dying down around her as she surveyed the room with a keen eye. There was no trace of the blank, innocent expression she had just worn moments before. No, her eyes were now sharp and focused, her mouth set in a determined line. She regarded the technician beside her with a pointed gaze.  
  
"[Did I fall asleep?]" she asked him, slightly incredulous at the idea but strangely accepting of it.  
  
"[For a little while,]" he responded, moving forward to undo the restraints and glancing at the handler, who was shaking his head, still smirking and chuckling a little to himself. Natasha followed his gaze briefly.  
  
"[Can I go now?]" she asked once she was released, eyeing her handler with a calm sort of eagerness.  
  
"[If you like.]"  
  
Natasha gave the technician a nod, then gracefully rose from the chair and strode purposefully toward the handler. He gave her a pleased smirk- the kind a well-trained dog gets from a righteous owner.  
  
"[Come,]" he said, nodding towards the door. "[You have a briefing to get to. And training.]"  
  
\--------  
  
Clickclick- BANG!- switch- clickclick- BANG!  
  
"Her skills certainly have not diminished at all, despite the cryofreeze. What accuracy!" A man in a black suit regarded the red-headed woman at the firing range with raised brows. His similarly-dressed comrade beside him gave a light chuckle.  
  
"Yes, a perfect marriage of both the Red Room and the Dollhouse programs."  
  
"Dollhouse? But I thought she always had this skill?"  
  
"That's correct, but now we have it on file, as it were. We even took some liberties and added a few extra tools to her arsenal." The second man gave a nod towards the training floor. "Observe."  
  
The woman deftly brandished a bow and slung a quiver of arrows across her back and turned to face the range again. Starting on one end, she began walking to the other, and- thunk! thunk! thunk! thunk!- all of the targets had an arrow between the eyes by the time she got there. She returned to the middle, bow at the ready, and waited for the buzzer. Once it sounded, she drew her weapon, and up popped an airborne target, which she easily shot down. A few more of these targets made an appearance with similar results, then there came a pause. A buzzer of a different pitch sounded, and two targets came flying up, and both were shot down at the same time. The first observer let out a breath in awe as she repeated the exercise.  
  
"This... this sort of skill is nearly akin to Clin-"  
  
"Clint Barton? Of the Avengers?" The second man let out a proud chuckle. "Indeed. Perhaps even better."  
  
"How? It would take a lifetime to learn it!"  
  
"The Dollhouse program. With further development, it could turn anyone into a fully-trained, combat-ready asset. Customizable, even, if necessary. Ms. Romanova, here, was a perfect candidate for early testing." He gave an acknowledging nod. "Prior... programming, is preferable for subjects for the time being." He turned back to watch their newest asset as she took down three flying targets at once. "Which is why we need the Winter Soldier back."  
  
"Ah," interjected the first man. "Seventy years of serving HYDRA would make him a perfect... specimen, for testing, no?"  
  
"Indeed. His mind is weak. A virtual playground for our technicians."  
  
A final buzzer sounded and the woman promptly gave up her bow.  
  
"She'll be a perfect hound for us," continued the second man, watching as his pet talked to her handler. "She'll find him. Our technicians found memories of him locked deep away in her psyche- she knows him. Loves him, even." He gave a harsh laugh. "There's no way she'll let us down."  
  
\--------  
  
Natasha hoisted the duffel bag a little further up on her shoulder as she looked up at Avengers Tower, the engine of her taxi already fading off into the rush of New York traffic. God, it had been a while since she had been here. Not since after Clint... She heaved a sigh as she shook her head, forcing her feet forward into the lobby. She'd known that the tower was going to be a little more empty without him in it, but she could handle it. She was Natalia Romanova- emotions were tools, and tools she had complete control of.  
  
She made the familiar journey to the elevator and pressed the button for her floor, thankful that her only company for the ride were agents that she'd never seen before. No need to explain her lengthy absence to anyone yet. Once on her own floor, she deposited her bag in her room and grabbed some new clothes. A shower was in order- she needed something to wake her up. There was an ache in her bones that she couldn't quite place, like she had slept for way too long. But it was nothing compared to that annoying weight in her chest. She smacked down a frame of a familiar scene of her own smiling face next to one that was long gone on her way to the bathroom. She'd have to sort out and get rid of every trace of him from her floor eventually. Keep the past in the past.


	4. Empty Nest

The floor of the tower is quiet. To anyone else, it might seem unsettling. For Natasha, it was acceptable. Nothing about the apparent loneliness bothered her. Or, that's what she told herself.

She busied herself by unpacking the clothes she had brought along with her when she had disappeared, by cleaning herself up, by finding things to eat. She ignored the ghost of the archer on the couch, at the window, in the bedroom. She pushed down the twinge she felt each time she saw him, ignored the inside jokes that bounced around in her head, tried not to smile or cry when she remembered the last joke they had shared. They were just ghosts. Ghosts of a man who had reminded her how it felt to be human again. That time was over.

She found herself changing into proper gym clothes, hoping that none of her other teammates had the same idea this morning. Though hopefully they had enough common sense to know that she would want to keep interaction to a minimum, anyway.

Thankfully, the gym was empty, indeed. Good. She might be able to shake some of this heaviness from her body. It was like a sleepiness she couldn't quite shake. Not depression, she figured. This was a literal fatigue.

After a few rounds with a punching bag, a few circuits at the machines, she decided it was time for some target practice.

The range was blissfully quiet, as well, though she had no problem breaking it with the rounds of a pistol. After decimating a few targets, she figured she'd had enough for one day. But... wait, why was there still a bow next to her load out? Wouldn't they have cleared his things out months ago?

She brushed her fingers gently over the ergonomic grip of the bow. There was a familiarity there, one that she grudgingly let herself sink into for a few moments. Some part of her was glad they hadn't moved it. And in the privacy, safety of the empty range, she let herself pretend that everything was okay.

"Mind if I borrow this, Clint?" she asked, slowly taking a hold of the bow and lifting it. "Promise I'll take good care of it. No scratches, no nothing." She took up the quiver, too, and slid it carefully over her shoulder.

There was a bit of a thrill in stepping up to the range with the bow. It was familiar, somehow. It was safe. It was like she had done it a million times- which was true, of course, but never with a bow. Just her archer.

She notched an arrow with a small smile. There was something about just having the bow in her hands that lifted some of the weight from her chest. She quickly drew it and aimed, hitting her target dead center.

"Guess I'm not too shabby after all, huh?"

It was the silence after her question that reminded her why she stayed away from sentimental things. She clutched the bow in one hand as she fought it. Dammit, she'd slipped up. She'd made it worse. She quickly took the quiver off her back and carefully replaced the bow, turning on her heel and walking out, the weight in her chest much heavier than before.


	5. Unstable

There it lay. No, there _he_ lay. Quiet and simple, the stone marked the spot. She didn't have to look at it to know what it said: "Clinton Francis Barton." The dates and his name were carved into her memory as much as they were in the marble.  
  
She kneeled next to the plot, hunching over and... letting her palms sink into the dirt in front of her. The soil packed under her weight, but... she kept sinking. She could make out the edges of the grave now, the dirt seemingly 'draining' out of the hole. No, no- he was dead, this shouldn't be happening. Frantically, she began spreading the dirt out in front of her- he had to stay in there, he was dead. A glimpse of a purple sleeve peeked out along one of the edges- no! She frantically tried to keep the dirt in the grave, but she knew he was barely covered now, under only a shallow layer of soil. If she touched it now, her hand would easily find flesh. But she had to keep him down. She continued trying to fill the grave, but it was never quite enough. She kept trying and trying, until a glimpse of a bright blue, unseeing eye ripped through her chest and stopped her in her tracks.  
  
"Clint!" her voice cracked as she sat up in the dark of her room, her body tangled in sheets and her face... covered in tears. Great. She brought a shaking hand to her cheek and wiped them away. This shouldn't bother her any more. One didn't weep over a fallen comrade for too long. It was only distracting. Right?  
  
She took in a shaky breath and brought her knees to her chest, resting her head on them. No use going back to bed now.

The creak of her door being opened made her head shoot up in panic, reflexively reaching for the gun kept hidden under her pillow.

“Nat? You okay?”

She let out a sigh, bringing her arm back to rest across her knees again. “Didn’t know you’d taken to sneaking around my floor, Rogers.” She couldn’t actually say that she wasn’t glad to see him. Steve was one of the only people that she could say that she trusted, which, if she was honest with herself, made his presence pretty welcome.

The super soldier edged his way into the room, idly glancing around as Nat reached over and turned on the lamp on her bedside table. “Well. Just thought it would be a good idea to check on you,” he explained. “Jarvis told me you’d just come back.”

Nat raised a brow at him, glancing at her clock. Four in the morning wasn’t exactly the best time to just check on someone, but considering the strange hours the Avengers kept, she figured it wasn’t all that unusual, really. She couldn’t say the sentiment wasn’t appreciated. Plus, she couldn’t be the only one having trouble sleeping, no matter if he had heard her wake up or not.

“Yeah, I ah… I had enough of trying to come up with a new cover,” she said, shrugging as Steve came to sit on the edge of her bed. “Figured it would be nice to be back in the tower.”

He nodded in response, looking down at his knees. “Yeah. It’s been empty without… well, with everyone gone.”

Nat decided to just completely jump over the subject. She wasn’t going into the details of _who_ exactly had been gone. Not right now.

“So what have you been up to, soldier?” she said, nudging his shoulder. He looked up at her with a raised brow and a small, sad smile. He wasn’t dumb, and she knew it.

“Missing persons case, actually. Been working on it with Sam,” he replied, earning him a raised brow in return. Nat knew full well who he had been searching for. Usually, she might roll her eyes at him and ask him if he’d had any fun trying to catch smoke. Even _she_ hadn’t had any luck finding the Winter Soldier by herself.

“Gotten anywhere so far?” is all she said, deciding that now really wasn’t the time for sarcasm. Steve seemed the slightest bit relieved.

“Not really. Sam and I have searched everywhere we could think of. I actually just came back from researching Siberia, of all places.”

“Ah,” Nat said, nodding. “That explains the 4am wakeup call.”

Steve gave her a look. Guess they were overlooking the fact that Nat had effectively woken herself up. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“You know you soldier types. Can never break the habit, eh? But anyway- you said Siberia?” Nat said, burying the subject yet again. Her dreams- or nightmares, whatever you wanted to call them- were not important right now.

“Yeah- yeah, Siberia. We have intel that said there’s a Hydra base out there somewhere. Thought it might have some clues to where he could be, if he’s not there, himself.”

Nat leaned back a little into her pillows, processing the information with what she already knew. It was true that there was a base there- a very important base to the Winter Soldier program, in fact. But it had been abandoned for a very long time, and if the Winter Soldier had gone rogue like Steve suspected, there was no chance he’d go there under his own volition.

“No, he wouldn’t be there,” she said finally. Steve glanced up at her.

“You think?” he asked, sincerely. He paused, looking her over. “You know something about that base?”

Nat leaned forward again, studying the super soldier in front of her. Usually, she’d dismiss the idea of helping Steve with this particular man hunt. It was one she’d gone through, herself, a couple of times before. But with Sam, Steve, and her combined knowledge, they might stand a chance. Maybe. And maybe she just really needed the distraction, too.

“I do,” she said, smirking at Steve good-heartedly. “I know a lot of things, Steve. You know that.” He gave a small, exasperated sigh.

“Doesn’t do me any good if you don’t tell me!”

“Hey, tell you what. I’ll help you out, just to get back out there. You know Fury’s been shy about putting us out in the field since we’ve been getting some bad press lately, so. I guess I’ll tag along.”

The excitement and hope on Steve’s face was hard for him to contain, seeing as this was the first possible lead he’d had in a long time. It even brought a bit of color to Nat’s face, too.

“Thanks, Natasha,” he said as she got up and walked to her closet. “Means a lot.” He furrowed his brows at her, watching her pick out coats and jackets. “Where you going?”

“Prague,” she said simply.

“… Mind if I ask why?”

“There’s a safe house there where the Winter Soldier and I… we both know it. There’s a chance he’s there now.” She paused her perusing for a moment to look at him. “You coming?”

 

* * *

 

 

There were a lot of things for Natasha to dig back up before she could be fully prepared to start this wild goose chase again. Since their plane didn’t leave for another couple of hours, she thought she’d take full advantage of the Stark tech that the tower was packed full of, which is how she found herself standing among dozens of floating holographic SHIELD files, pictures, and even the occasional film clip or two.

“JARVIS,” she said. “Are there any other relevant files you can find that I’ve missed?”

“Let me check for you, Ms. Romanov,” the AI replied. After a few seconds, the results popped up. “Anything to do with James Buchanan Barnes or the Winter Soldier has already been pulled up. Are there any other keywords you’d like me to search for?”

“Where have you been searching, Jarvie?”

“Across all SHIELD records and files that you have the clearance to view, Ms. Romanov. And might I add that that _is_ a new one. Even Mr. Stark hasn’t called me that.”

“It’ll be our secret. And I’ve got another one for you. Watch this, but don’t tell Tony.”

“No promises, Ms. Romanov. Mr. Stark is quite talented at finding things out.”

“Well, I’ll just have to be extra careful to cover my trail, then.”

It was amazing, what could be done with a simple internet connection. Oh, and prior programming knowledge. And a very helpful AI. Within minutes, Natasha had gained access to hundreds of HYDRA files, as well as SHIELD’s. In all honesty, it was a bit easier to gain access to the HYDRA database than she had expected. But oh, _now_ they were getting somewhere. She let out a breath.

The digital files only went back a couple of decades at best, but that didn’t really matter. Her memory wasn’t the best, but she could piece together what she needed from the rest of HYDRA’s history of dealing with the Winter Soldier on her own. But the rest, the stuff that she didn’t know… there was so much of it.

Cryofreeze- that had started after her time. More rigorous methods of brainwashing. Electroshocks. Upgrades to his metal arm. Mission reports. She brought a hand to her mouth, a familiar icy chill crawling into her ribcage.

“Oh, god,” she breathed. “What have they done to you…”

More out of morbid curiosity than anything else, she started flicking through a few of the mission reports until one of the titles caught her eye: Mission Report: Stark 12-16-91

“… and what have you done?”

She knew better than to select the surveillance footage that was attached to it. She knew better than to stir that ghost from its sleep. But then there was the Stark car, and Winter on his motorcycle, the flash of his pistol, and finally his icy glare into the camera after the deed was done. She paused before the video cut out, staring the blurry image in the face.

There was no way that she could let this footage see much more daylight, not within the Stark tower, itself. She didn’t have time to think before JARVIS alerted her.

“Ma’am, you have a visitor coming up the elevator. I’d recommend stowing any classified information immediately.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” she clipped, fingers flying to come up with a folder to hoard all the information that she had gathered and to save it to her own personal network before she heard the ding of the elevator.

“There’s my- well, my _second_ favorite redhead!” came none other than Tony Stark’s voice from the other end of the living area. He had his arms open wide and was sauntering over to her. She rolled her eyes. “Finally get tired of living out there, in the cold, on your own? Don’t tell me you _missed_ me. Oh- no. You missed my tech, didn’t you. I know, I’ve spoiled you kids rotten.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nat replied, shaking her head to herself with a smile. She wasn’t quite sure when she’d tell the rest of the team that she had a good fifty years on all of them besides Steve (who, admittedly, was about 20 years older than her, give or take), but it was almost funny to let them believe otherwise. It was another conversation for another time. “Why are you up here, Stark? Did Pepper put you up to this?”

He stopped in his tracks, mock betrayal plastered over his face. “What, can’t I check up on a teammate that’s finally turned up after being AWOL for months on end?”

“It’s what I do, Stark. All that press and media after D.C. put me on edge.”

“Yeah. Press and media. Sure.”

Natasha gave him a glare that she hoped he could feel burning into him. First Steve, and now Tony obviously trying to dance around the subject of Clint? God, what was she, some little girl made of glass? She glanced away, feeling her defensive anger rising up.

“Why I left or what I did after is none of your business, Stark,” she snapped. She strode over to the couch, picking up a purple shirt that had caught her attention and hurling it in the direction of the bedroom.

Tony raised his hands in surrender. “All right, warrior princess, I get it. Super-secret spy stuff. Did you happen to pick up any tips from the good Dr. Banner, by chance? Throwing stuff is generally _his_ signature move.”

Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, putting one hand on her hip and the other to her forehead. “I swear to god, Stark, if you’re here for any other reason than to throw me a pity party, you’d better tell me what it is now.”

“I told you! I just wanted to say hello, welcome _back_ into the really nice home that I built for you to live in, and to make sure you were okay!”

“Yes. All right. Hi, I’m fine, and thanks for letting me stay. I’ll be out of your hair again soon enough, though.”

“Damn. And here I was thinking I could invite you and Steve to dinner with Pepper and me.”

“No, sorry, I’m stealing your boyfriend to go look for someone.”

“Fury already have you out on assignment?”

“Personal mission.”

“I’m sure with Captain Spangles, it’s a righteous mission, indeed.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve still got homework to do before our plane takes off. Do you mind?”

Tony raised his hands again, turning on his heel to retreat to the elevator. “Alright. Fine. I’ll leave you to work with this fabulous tech. And view, too. You can’t pay for another view like it around here.”

“Tell Pepper I say hi, Tony,” Natasha called to his retreating figure.

“Hint taken. You love her more than me!”

“Tell her we’re still on for that dinner date next week. I'm wearing that little black dress she likes!”

“You wound me!”

Natasha almost wished that she’d had time for another smart remark before the elevator doors had closed. Oh well. Stark was usually the one getting the last word, anyway, whether she liked it or not.

She turned her attention to the bright blue folder still floating before her, contemplating going through its contents one more time. No, she decided. She’d seen enough for one day. There would be plenty of time to go through it and think through things on the way to Prague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'm at the end of my pre-written solos now and starting to venture out into actual fic writing. Here goes nothing!
> 
> Also, I've definitely added a few nods to the comics here. It's hard not to, honestly.


	6. Candy House

“How much farther, Romanoff?”

Nat turned back to look at Steve with a smirk. “What, are you tired of looking at the scenery?” she replied, sweeping her arm across barren, icy fields cracked here and there with scraggly, leafless trees. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Is now really the time for this?”

“It’s just over this hill. And hey, be glad you’re not making this trek with a wounded leg and a firing squad after you. That’s how I made my last trip up here.”

Sure enough, once they reached the top of the hill, they could plainly see a medium-sized, cozy looking house. None of the lights were on under its snow-laden roof, but that didn’t surprise Nat. Winter never had bothered with the lights.

“Hold on,” she said, bringing up a hand to stop the soldier from continuing his march. Squinting against the brightness of the snow, she saw… the back door had been thrown wide open. She pointed at it. “That’s not right.” Steve gave a nod, drawing his gun.

“Any idea of what sort of ‘not right’ we’re gonna be dealing with, here?” he asked.

“Not sure. Probably trouble. He wouldn’t have left the door like that.”

“Let’s check it out.”

There was no sound but a slight winter breeze and the smallest crunching of snow under their boots as they approached the house. Steve entered the house first, clearing the first room and signaling Nat to follow. Nat gave one last glance behind them before following, drawing her own pistol and searching the darkness of the house for any sign of life.

The creaking of the house was almost a welcome sound to the pair, as it nearly muffled their footsteps on the hardwood floors completely. They cleared the entire first floor without incident and had just made it up to the top of the stairs to check the second floor when suddenly Nat heard a solid thump and had nearly 200lbs of super soldier toppling down on top of her.

Now at the _bottom_ of the stairs again and with no air in their lungs, the two desperately tried to regain their bearings. Nat scrambled for her gun, glancing up quickly to see just what had knocked them down, but was only able to make out the silhouette of a person before she felt the gun get yanked from her grasp.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” came a young woman’s voice, a Romani lilt in her speech.

Nat reached for a Widow’s Bite from her belt but felt her hand stop at her side. She struggled, trying to get it to move, before looking down to see a red aura encasing her entire forearm. She caught a flash of blue out of the corner of her eye and heard Steve hit the ground again- hard. Shit. These were Enhanced.

“Yeah, what business do Captain America and the Black Widow have here in Prague?” said the young man who was now standing victoriously over Steve, the same accent on his tongue. He turned to the woman on the stairs. “They said there’d be no trouble!”

“And there won’t be,” replied the woman, confidence smooth in her voice. However, at that moment, Steve knocked the feet out from beneath the man above him. He was then knocked over into the middle of the next room before anyone knew what had happened.

Nat reached for another pocket with her free hand, only to have that one trapped, as well. She stared her attacker down as more sounds of struggle- mainly breaking furniture and grunts from Steve- came from the other room. The woman stepped closer to her, her hands and fingers swirling patterns in the air in front of her as she looked at Nat with a gaze that would have pierced the less experienced right through.

“What _are_ you doing here, Widow?” the woman crooned, coming closer and taking a knee, stooping down a little to look her in the eyes. Nat returned the stare, refusing to speak. She needed to figure out what their game was before she made her own move.

“Funny, I was wondering if you could tell me the same thing,” she replied easily. She felt her hands get forced in front of her chest then jerk her forward. She raised a brow. “You don’t scare me, witch.”

“I said,” the woman replied, more force behind her voice now as her eyes flashed red. “What are you doing here?” Nat gave a calculated chuckle.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” The woman looked her over, studying her, thinking something over.

“Fine,” she said after a moment or two, smirking releasing Nat and letting her palms smack back onto the floor. “But you’re still going to tell me why you’re here.”

“I don’t thi-“

Suddenly, Nat was at the top of the stairs. Wait, no, this wasn’t Prague. This wasn’t the safehouse. She took one step, then another step, down the stairs, hearing faint music coming from below. She saw two ballerinas ascending the stairs in front of her, all perfectly the same, perfectly in sync, hair perfectly tight, shoes perfectly laced.

She reached the landing and looked forward into the dance hall, where more ballerinas were practicing under their mentor. She knew they had been practicing for long hours. Their feet were probably wrapped and bleeding underneath those silk slippers, no matter how gracefully they moved. Her own feet ached with the memory.

“Again!”

“He’ll break them,” she whispered, already seeing signs of desperation in the girls’ faces.

“Only the breakable ones. You are made of marble,” came a woman’s voice. The hairs on the back of Natalia’s neck rose. “We’ll celebrate after the graduation ceremony.”

There were silver medical instruments sitting on a table. Ready, waiting.

“What if I fail?” she heard herself say, fear draining into her chest.

Gunshots sounded and she saw her own arm raise up, gun in hand, and shoot the target before her. The rest was muscle memory- bang, bang, switch, bang, bang, switch.

“You never fail,” said a familiar man’s voice. She turned from her target to look behind her, seeing a hulking silhouette of a man, hunched over, arms crossed, sitting in a chair. His unkempt, tangled hair caught some of the light from the window behind him, but not as much light as his silver arm. She faced forwards again, and her target was now a whimpering man with a sack over his head. She raised her gun again.

“Again!”

Arms circled around her neck and locked her down, just like she knew they would. She thought about flipping him, continuing the spar, but instead she reached up and double tapped the silver arm. Maybe if she just…

“Sloppy!” came the woman’s voice, the Russian word coming harsh from her mouth. Natalia leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

“Pretending to fail… The ceremony is necessary for you to take your place in the world!”

“I have no place in the world,” Natalia recited.

“Exactly.”

Her face was pressed hard against wood flooring, her breath coming hard to her. The young woman from earlier was still kneeled in front of her, head tilted and smirking.

“Ready to tell me why you’re here?” she asked. “I can do it again.”

Nat didn’t even have time to regain her composure to speak before she realized she wasn’t in the safehouse again. She was in the passenger seat of a car. Who was driving?

Her heart stopped when she looked over. It was Clint. They were speeding down a highway.

“Clint!” she breathed, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. She could feel the fabric of his jacket beneath her fingers. “Clint, what’s going on?” She looked out at the road. “Where are we going?”

Her questions went unanswered and her presence seemed to go unnoticed. Clint kept jamming along to whatever was blaring on the radio, not a care in the world. Nat felt her seatbelt tighten across her chest as he slowed down behind the traffic that was starting to line up.

“What’s going-“

They were thrown back in their seats as someone rocketed into them from behind, Clint desperately stepping on the brake and pulling the steering wheel to avoid the car in front of them.

“Clint! The barrier!”

There was a bright flash, then suddenly she saw Clint, somewhere surrounded by heavy metal walls- a ship, maybe- and the witch. Clint pulled out an electric arrow and stuck it to the witch’s forehead, stunning her.

“I’ve done the whole mind control thing. Not a fan.”

Another flash, and there she was on the archery range. Everything was hazy, almost pixelated in places, even. She shot bullseyes every time. It faded into darkness, then all she could see in front of her was the Winter Soldier. This was who she needed to find. She needed to find James Buchanan Barnes. She needed to find the Winter Soldier.

Natasha opened her eyes again to find the witch outright smiling at her this time.

“Someone’s already gotten to you, haven’t they, кукла?” she said, standing up and leaving Natasha on the floor. Nat didn’t think she could stand up right then if she tried.

“Pietro!” the woman called. “Our work here is done. Come here and stop beating up the old man.”

“All right, fine!” the man called back, immediately showing up at the woman’s side. “Ready to go?”

The woman nodded, and Pietro took her up into his arms.

“Until next time,” the woman said, then the man took them both away and out of the house in a blue flash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize to some of my friends for one of the scenes in this chapter. I had to.


End file.
